ComicBookHarriet

Locked in Cels of Padding

Guys, I’m just so conflicted here. Like, painfully so.

On the one hand, we have two 60 year old men getting excited about watching nearly 30 year old Batman cartoons. The overpowering flavor of nerds, soaking into the lumpy bland tofu of these soy cubes, nauseating me. It’s getting really old. The entire Westview landscape is nothing but men waxing eloquent about Batarangs. Everyone male is consumed by geeky interests. There is no escape.

On the other hand, I, a nominal adult closer to middle age than adolescence, love cartoons. I own more DVD’s of cartoons than I own pairs of shoes. I watch more cartoons than any other genre of television. So this entire strip feels like some kind of personal attack.

It doesn’t help that Batman: The Animated Series is not only an amazing, critically acclaimed cartoon that no adult should be ashamed to watch, but is also a cartoon that I remember watching as a small Harriet. I actually watched it as it was airing. A beautiful cartoon. A cartoon that deeply, deeply, wonderfully traumatized me.

There I was, a poor little girl, not even seven, sitting on the couch on Saturday Morning, watching the silhouette of a man held down and begging for mercy as he’s drowned with toxic chemicals.

An innocent girl, manipulated by her invisible and increasingly more unhinged father who loves her possessively and dangerously.

A mentally fragile man sobbing uncontrollably after the violent ‘death’ of the creepy puppet that was actually a manifestation of his dissociative identity disorder.

What I’m saying is, this show gave me some of the formative psychological horror experiences of my young mind, and if anyone wants to sit and rewatch it with me, well, I thought you’d never ask.

(Also, Batman TAS was produced as TWO seasons. the first was 65 episodes long to reach syndication length. They then made an additional 20. It was released on DVD in four volumes. So, you know; suck it Tom.)

À la Recherche du Temps Pizza

Link To Today’s Strip

Comic Book Harriet here again! Can’t believe I’m up again already. It seems like yesterday I was struggling to find a band turkey joke that wasn’t as overdone as the ones in the strip. But Tom rolls on like an ever flowing stream of consciousness, bringing me back again, panning through his muck for fool’s gold.

I want to give special commendation to SpaceManSpiff 85. He was given a relentlessly dim and myopic arc, and managed to fill the week with a overwhelming flow of cataract puns. Sir, you have my admiration. And my sympathy. Because it seems I’m going to be just as burdened this week with shortsighted visual humor.

I asked earlier this arc if Funky has always been a hapless character that only exists to be neurotic and spout lame puns. My interactions with Act I Funky come through flashback photo-cornered panels, car accident coma dreams, and the offerings of our resident Batiukian researchers. Longtime Stuckfunkians Rusty Shackleford and Banana Jr 6000 were kind enough to reply, and both used the term ‘burnout’ to describe Act I Funky, which kind of surprised me. I can’t see the preachy Batiuk, with more cheap soapboxes than a Palmolive warehouse, insinuating his main character was dating Mary Jane Wackytabaccy on the weekends, and playing it for harmless laughs. Crazy Harry? Sure. But the eponymous protagonist?

I can see it now. Panel two has Act I Funky, in all his mellow glory, blissed out on his tiny bed, with every comfort a baked adolescent needs within arm’s reach: lamp, pizza, soda, music, The Amazing Mister Sponge. Curled up in a tiny cluttered nest of his own hedonism. He even has his SHOES on the bed, that’s how much he DNGAF.

Stark contrast to Act III Funky in panels 1 and 3, sitting on a huge, empty bed, in a mostly empty room. Only a featureless smartphone and a rapidly expanding mattress his plebian pleasures. His specific interests have been pulled out, leaving us with a boring box containing a boring man with a face slowly drooping like a blobfish.

I wish Funky could have gotten glaucoma instead. We could have had burnout Funky back.

Galling Gabbing Gobblers.

Link To Today’s Strip

For Pete’s sake, look how absolutely smug Dinkle is walking into the band room in panel one. Since his retirement, Becky has tried shilling mattresses, books, and selling the turkeys online. But here she is, stuck again in a chilly band room full of cardboard coffins of rapidly thawing poultry corpses. He knew she’d go crawling back to Sam’N’Ella’s finest, just like she always does. There’s nothing the elderly love more than seeing innovation fail.

I don’t know how long Batiuk has been patting his back over his Sam’N’Ella turkey pun. But, the earliest November in our archives shows the bacteria riddled band turkeys stacked to the ceiling.

I hope all of you aren’t tired of Dinkle yet! Because November is DINKLE AWARENESS MONTH, and our glorious leader, TF Hackett, will be making sure you all are aware of Dinkle for the foreseeable future.

But, before I sign off from my shift, I just wanted to take a moment for a little early Thanksgiving sentimentality. This week wasn’t just Donna and Harry’s (early) anniversary, it also marked my third anniversary of guest hosting this blog. I can’t say how much having a warm and inviting place to snark means to me. A place where I can stretch some disused writing muscles to a cozy, appreciative, audience, and even feel okay if I need to slack off on a few posts where the stress of real life or the paucity of the material gives me little to work with.

So I give thanks to TF Hackett and Epicus Doomus, for making this little place chug along, and giving me the opportunity to drive the bus every few months. And thank you everyone who comments, either with praise, or details, or your own hilarious takes on this strange comic universe’s Kafkaesque parody of a Hallmark Channel movie. Remember, your impotent rageposting makes the world a brighter and funnier place.

Stay Funky my friends.

Frankie’s House

Link To Today’s Strip

Thanks to Billy the Skink for pointing out yesterday that Chez Francois is an actual fancy restaurant in Ohio. I had just assumed it was made up, because the name sounded so Batiukian. And our Ohio correspondent Rusty Shackleford even provided a review.

I don’t know what Rusty ordered when he was there, but whatever it was it cost him a pretty penny. Frankie’s House is no ten-dollar steak joint. This is the kind of place that serves Waygu and quail eggs and escargot. Where a ham on arugula salad, dressed with olive oil, will put you back 25 bucks.

Maybe Donna and Crazy will partake of the special this month. A seven course meal, paired with a wine for every course, called, “Truffles Truffles Truffles.” After eating this tour of mushrooms, you’d be full of more fungus than a musty bin of unwashed gym socks. I’m sure that Montoni’s finest
condimento per l’insalata would pair well atop any of these dishes.

First Course

Duo of Eggs & Truffles, Truffle Cappuccino
Ohio Proud Scrambled eggs cooked with truffle butter, garnished with black truffles and truffle oil, and a Cappuccino of purée of fall wild mushrooms and black “Burgundy” truffles, truffle foam.

Cremant de Bourgogne Rose “N˚ 69”, JCB, Burgundy, France, NV

Second Course

Maine Diver Sea Scallop En Croûte, Black Truffle Butter
A Maine diver sea scallop served in its natural shell, filled with sliced truffles and truffle butter, wrapped in puff pastry.

Chablis 1er “Les Sechets”, Jean & Sebastian Dauvissat, Burgundy, France, 2015

Third Course

Soufflé au Fromage, Black Truffle and Quail Egg
A blend of Ubriaco and Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese, oven baked in a ramekin and topped with a poached quail egg and freshly shaved black truffles.

Condrieu “La Côte Chatillon”, Xavier Gerard, Northern Rhône Valley, France 2015

Fourth Course

Puglia Tagliatelle, “Alba” White Truffles
Freshly shaved White Truffles served over Puglia tagliatelle with truffle butter and fine herbs.

Savigny-Les-Beaune 1er “Cru Les Peuillets”, Lucien Jacob, Burgundy, France, 2013

Fifth Course

Char-Grilled Farmed Raised Coturnix Quail, Black “Burgundy” Truffle Butter Sauce
Char-grilled quail filled with a quail and truffle forcemeat, serve with a chestnut mousseline, finished with Black “Burgundy” truffle butter sauce.

Seasonal Wild Mushroom, Truffles & Foie Gras, en Croûte
Wild mushroom and truffle consommé, with Foie Gras, duck confit and Black “Burgundy” Truffles topped with puff pastry.

St Joseph “Cavanos” Vielles Vignes, Cuilleron, Northern Rhône Valley, France, 2016

Sixth Course

Roast Tenderloin of Veal, Sauce Périgueux
Tenderloin of Wisconsin Veal, served over a delicata squash filled with white and black truffle risotto finished with wild mushrooms and a truffle reduction sauce.

Grilled Ora King Salmon Filet, Wild Mushroom, Truffle Butter Sauce
Char-grilled New Zealand King Salmon served over baby bok choy, seasonal wild mushrooms, finished with truffle butter sauce.

Barbaresco “Riserva Cichin”, Ada Nada , Piedmont, Italy, 2013

Seventh Course

White Truffle Ice Cream, Truffle Honey & Seasonal Berries
French vanilla bean ice cream with Alba White Truffles, Truffle honey, almond tuile and seasonal berries.

Coteaux du Layon 1er “Cru Chaume”, Château Soucherie, Loire Valley, France, 2014

$200 per guest
Tax & Gratuity not included
*$75.00 per person supplemental charge for a 2.5oz. pour of the above dinner wines and 2oz. pour of the dessert wine.

Test of Patience.

Link To Today’s Strip

Ugh. What an anti-climax. It is the peak of Batikuian storytelling to hinge an entire week’s worth of strips on a non-existent conflict. We never had to be worried about how Donna would receive her bottle of salad dressing, because Crazy Harry always had a stock fancy restaurant in his back pocket. He didn’t mention this to Funky or Holly because he doesn’t want to ruin what’s left of his eccentric mystique by admitting he’s basically planning a cookie cutter anniversary with a bit of oil and vinegar pregaming.

Unless the entire salad dressing gift ceremony was some kind of morality test? And if Donna hadn’t sufficiently appreciated the bottle of Montoni’s finest Crazy would just have driven her to Toxic Taco.

Regardless, it’s a good thing that the salad dressing wasn’t actually a tiny bottle of champagne, because judging by the look on Donna’s face in panel two, she’s already plenty intoxicated.